4TH OF JULY

On June 6, 1949, my parents, my brother and I arrived in Chicago as immigrants from Sweden. The first few months we rented two rooms in a building on Newport Avenue, just east of Clark Street.

The 4th of July was a very hot day. Our thermometer outside showed 104 degrees, and we spent most of the day in Lincoln Park near Lake Michigan, where it was cooler.

When we returned to our rooms, an elderly woman, who was also Swedish and lived in the building, invited my mother and me to go with her to Soldier Field that evening to see the 4th of July celebration. My mother declined, but she let me go. We took the streetcar to Soldier Field, and I was surprised to see how many people were there. Oh, how I enjoyed the show. There was music and singing, a stock-car race, and when it got dark, everyone lighted a match. There were thousands of flickering lights. But it was nothing compared to the fireworks. They were beautiful. I had never seen fireworks before.

When it was over, we took the streetcar back home. As we walked on Newport Avenue, people were shooting off firecrackers everywhere.